On the other hand, her mind whispered, Chev Martinez wasn’t the most powerful attorney in Florida, with the ear of the governor, making decisions every day that affected the lives of everyone who lived in the state. If Jason knew what Gemma had been doing, exhibiting her body to a relative stranger, he’d be shocked and disgusted. He’d tell her that she’d gone slumming…that he was glad he had divorced her before he realized the extent of her perversions and perhaps ruined his career. A stone settled in her stomach. The men were too different to compare, she told herself. Besides, she’d had a ten-year relationship with Jason, and had known Chev barely ten days.
Yet his presence in her house had her on edge, his big body seeming to take up the entire hall as he scrutinized the unit and touched a tube here, a wire there. He seemed to fill the house, his male scent crowding the muggy rooms, his thoughtful hum soaking into empty corners, chasing away the loneliness that had pervaded the place since Jason’s departure. Gemma allowed her heart to lift faintly and moved into her bedroom to consult her dusty bookshelves.
“I’m going to check your breakers,” he called.
“Go ahead,” she called back, struck by how domestic they seemed. Pleasure infused her chest—this little exhibitionist fling was exactly what she needed to help her push through the pain of Jason’s rejection. She was suddenly very grateful for Chev’s presence—and hoped that he didn’t press her for…more.
* * *
CHEV WAS STRUCK by the domesticity of standing in Gemma’s hallway, doing something her husband would’ve done if he’d been around. Would her ex object to him being here? Probably. He wondered if the guy had had an affair, if Gemma had thrown him out or if he’d left voluntarily. Chev couldn’t imagine a woman more exciting than Gemma, but maybe the guy was a jerk…or gay. Or just a prude.
Chev flipped a breaker and glanced around to check that the section of power extinguished matched what was written on the switch’s label. He moved through the motions of the routine repair, feeling relatively sure he could get the unit running again with a few replacement parts.
He heard Gemma moving around in her bedroom. Setting his jaw against the hunger that surged in his chest, he walked to the doorway and rapped lightly. His gaze swept past the picture window where she had undressed for him and over her unmade bed before coming to rest on the sight of her standing in front of a bookshelf, thumbing through a hefty volume.
She looked up, then flushed and gestured vaguely toward the tangled sheets. “Excuse the mess. I slept in this morning until the peacock woke me up.”
He nodded, swallowing hard to control the reaction of his body to the image of Gemma undressed and lying beneath him on that bed. But his cock was having none of his stall tactics and began to swell against his zipper. She still looked tousled from sleep and he’d bet the sheets were still warm from her hot body. No wonder the air conditioner had blown. “The compressor is working. I think you need a new thermostat.”
“That sounds serious,” she murmured.
“Not really,” he assured her, shifting slightly in an effort to reposition himself more comfortably. “I’ll get everything you need on my next trip to the home center.”
“I appreciate your help.”
He nodded toward the book she held. “I appreciate yours.”
She smiled and held up the book. “What do you want to talk about first?”
“The fireplace,” he said randomly.
“Let’s walk over so I can take a look.”
“I’ll follow you,” he said, partly because he wanted to view her backside, and partly because he wanted to hide his growing erection. She picked up a sketch pad and swept by him in a cloud of feminine scent—fruity shampoo, heady womanliness and earthy sleep aromas. Downstairs he noticed blank spaces on walls and shelves where pictures had been removed and whatnots were missing. Containers of random men’s things sat on the floor—her husband’s leavings, no doubt. The rooms were clean, but appeared neglected and unused. She seemed eager to get outside, and he wondered if his presence made her nervous—more proof that she preferred distance between them.
They picked their way across her trashed yard. “I’ll help you put things back in order,” he offered.
“I’ll do it later,” she said with a wave. “I’m sure you have plenty of other things to keep you busy. Do you have a drop dead date for getting the house done?”
“Three weeks from now,” he said. “This week is demolition and getting supplies. The serious work starts next week.”
He led her inside the musty house and she went straight to the fireplace, all business. She touched the broken clay bricks as if they were old friends. She asked Chev what he was looking for in the restoration, but he was so distracted by her he could barely think. He loved the way her brow wrinkled when she concentrated, the way she angled her head as she sized up things. He fell back on what little he knew about the Mission style, describing the fireplaces in his grandparents’ home. She made notes in her sketchbook, then some simple line drawings. He leaned in close and added his comments, getting caught up in her enthusiasm.
“All of this doesn’t seem like much in return for fixing my air conditioner,” she said. “So I’d like to offer to replace the mural in the kitchen.”
He smiled. “You’re an artist, too?”
Suddenly she seemed shy. “Not accomplished by any means, but I think I could paint a passable landscape, if you’re willing to let me try.”
“I accept,” he said happily. A delivery truck pulled into the driveway, horn honking.
Gemma tucked a strand of shimmering blond hair behind her ear. “I guess I’d better get to my yard.”
“I’ll let you know when I get the thermostat for your HVAC unit,” he offered as they walked back to the entrance. “Will you be around tomorrow?”
“I have to work tomorrow.”
In yet another provocative outfit? He set his jaw against the images that exploded into his head. “I’ll let you know.”
She nodded, then turned and walked back to her own yard, seeming lost in thought. Chev spent the rest of the day finding excuses to look out the window or go outside to his truck so he could catch glimpses of her working in her yard, wearing her big hat and flowered gloves. It seemed incongruous that the woman was so…normal and yet so…titillating.
He had a feeling she wouldn’t appear at her window that night, but it didn’t stop him from looking. He gave up around midnight, lying on his cot with perspiration beading on his pent-up body as his mind played images of Gemma over and over. The woman confounded him, affected him like no other woman ever had. His body ached for her. He wanted to tell her that she didn’t have to be tentative around him, that he would take whatever she had to offer for the short time he would be there.
But what if her erotic nighttime shows were all that she had to offer? The woman was still suffering from the breakup of her marriage. Maybe the window performances were her way of safely acting out.
Or maybe her behavior had led to the end of her marriage. Lots of couples had bedroom secrets, but the state attorney general’s career probably would’ve been compromised if anyone knew that his wife was an exhibitionist.
On the other hand, Gemma didn’t seem the type to…
He groaned in frustration. The woman didn’t fit any “type” he’d ever known. Intelligent but unhappy, educated but badly employed, homey but sexy, bold but unsure of herself…complementary and contradictory.
Chev sighed, willing himself to put her out of his mind, to find sleep. He’d just begun to relax when a honking, plaintive noise sounded outside his window, again…and again…and again.
The peacock was back, calling for a mate.
Chev put his pillow over his ears. It was going to be a long night.
11
“HOW’S THE JOB?” Sue asked.
Gemma held her cell phone between her ear and shoulder while she tied the belt on the lightweight black raincoat she wore over her costume. She unlocked her car door and swung inside, mulling her response. Her body was strung tight after a day of being on exhibit herself. She was looking forward to getting home and taking a long bubble bath. “Fine, I guess. I’m getting accustomed to the routine.”
Sue gave a little laugh. “I might have to drive down there and check out your show.”
Gemma hesitated, trying to adopt a casual tone. “Sue, do you remember the Sexual Psyche class in college?”
“Sex for Beginners? Sure, I remember. What about it?”
“Did you ever take it?”
“No. I thought I already knew everything—what a joke. But you took it, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“And what made you think about the class after all these years?”
“I…received something in the mail the other day that…dredged up old memories.”
“What?”
“An assignment that we had, to write down our fantasies. Dr. Alexander said she’d mail them to us ten years later.”
“Wow, that’s kind of cool…isn’t it?”
“I guess, but a bit weird. I wrote them before I met Jason.”